Blade's and Mistrust
by mass-flooding
Summary: Michael orders a blade from TBag, and Sucre finds it a few days later. It comes with a note from TBag, brining up all sorts of questions about Michael and Sucre's friendship.
1. Blades and Mistrust

**THERE'S BOUND TO BE A FEW COMPLICATIONS WHEN YOU'RE BREAKING OUT OF PRISON…**

"Well Fish, you're gonna need to find somewhere to put that blade, or the bulls are gonna find it, and your ass is going straight to the SHU! And you know what that means, don't you? Not only does that brother of yours get fried like a fish, but **you** get an extra ten years on your bit!"

T-Bag's voice hung in the air, taunting Michael to ask him why.

Michael thought it would just be easier to play along, even though he knew what the answer would be.

"And why would I get an extra ten years on my bit, T-Bag?"

"Because if we don't get out of here, my singing voice is gonna be belting out **extra **loud…"

Michael had cornered T-Bag after P.I, needing a favour. Michael knew that T-Bag had connections to some guys who worked with tools that could easily be fashioned into just the kind of weapon that he was looking for.

Although Michael could understand why T-Bag would be reluctant to do anything for anyone without him getting something in return, he was confused over the way T-Bag was worrying about where Michael would hide it. T-Bag knew that Michael was no snitch, and even if T-Bag did think Michael would tell a badge where he got the knife from, T-Bag had the upper hand. Day by day, their whole in the guard's break room was growing bigger, and day by day, each of the men that were in on the secret got more and more agitated. The boys would constantly come up to Michael, questioning whether or not the break would ever happen. And Michael would constantly tell them to go away, lest the guards get suspicious.

"I'll find a place, ok? And anyway, you owe me! Lincoln is my brother, and he's innocent, so I'm getting him out. Abruzzi is arranging for us to disappear, so we need him. We need Westmoreland's money, so he's coming, and Sucre's my cellmate. He would see me digging the whole behind our toilet so I can hardly leave him behind, can I? So do we have a deal? You get me the knife, and we're even."

Michael didn't want to say that they were even, because there was no way that him and T-Bag would ever be on the same plain, but it was the only way he could get the knife without T-Bag inquiring further.

"Ok boy. We have a deal. But I just wanna know, why do you need this blade so blade so badly, that you feel you need to lie to me? Because I only have to look at your eyes, and I can tell that you're lying. You think that we'll never be equal? Well now that's just unfair…"

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Two days later, Sucre found a long knife under his mattress. The blade was shiny and pointed, lethal looking. It had a handle attached, made out of tape and fabric that could be found on any undershirt in the prison. On top of it was a note addressed to Michael.

"_Now I was doing a little thinking about our conversation the other day, and I thought 'Why was Pretty so evasive about why he needed this knife?' And then it hit me. While we were talking, you listed why you were taking certain people along and it occurred to me that you said that you were brining along Mr Mexican Cellmate because you could hardly leave him behind due to the fact that he would see everything. And then I thought, 'Why would Pretty need a knife in his cell if he was planning to be leaving through his cell? It's not like we're in danger of meeting anyone on the way…' And then I considered the fact that maybe you __**aren't**__ planning to bring your friend along? I mean, it's not like he's doing you any particular favours, is he? I think you two need to have a nice talk, don't you?"_

Sucre shivered. He could almost hear T-Bag's Southern drawl whispering behind him. Was this piece of paper speaking the truth? Sucre had been so sure that Michael was planning to bring him. If Michael didn't bring him along, then that bastard Hector would marry Maricruz, and then Sucre's life would be worth nothing.

Sucre whipped around as he heard Michael entering their cell. He was going to get to the bottom of this, and **make sure** that Michael was planning to bring him along. Sucre held the blade behind his back. If Michael was planning to kill him at all, he would most certainly do it when he found out that Sucre knew about the knife…

A/N. This chapter is just a pilot. I'm testing out some ideas that I have floating around, but I need stories to build them up, so please take the time to review and tell me what you think. About anything.


	2. Wait, what?

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**A/N Hey, there to all of my readers. Thanks loads to all who reviewed. And a huge thanks to ****knadineg, because you kind of started me off on this chapter. THANKS mate!**

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"Hey Sucre, I was thinking- What's wrong man?"

Sucre was standing stock still in the middle of the cell, with one hand behind his back, holding a piece of paper with the other hand. He looked positively terrified.

"Sucre, what's wrong? What are you hiding behind your back?"

Sucre took a step to the side, and then forward in one swift movement. Maybe if he could get close enough to the door, he could get out.

But before he could get any closer to his only way out (apart from the hole behind the toilet, but, you know…) Michael had grabbed his arm in a firm, vice like grip.

Immediately Sucre began swearing in Spanish. It wasn't that he thought Michael would harm him, but he was afraid of what Michael would do if he found the knife he'd ordered.

"Calm down, and I'll let you go… But you need to tell me what's wrong." Michael spoke as if talking to a four year old refusing to see the logic in one plus one making two.

"Yeah? You wanna know what's wrong?" Sucre demanded.

Michael just looked at Sucre worriedly.

"Yeah, well, I'll tell you! Your knife arrived today! And you wanna know what? I don't appreciate sharing a room with a guy who, not only isn't planning to bring me along when he escapes from _prison,_" Sucre hissed accusingly. "But actually wants to kill me!!!"

Michael stared.

"Wait, what? You think I'm gonna kill you?"

"I don't _think_ papi, I _know_! I found that note from T-Bag, and I know all about your little secret!"

"What note?" Michael was confused. Why was Sucre acting like this?

Sucre held out the note and Michael snatched it out of his shaking hand.

"_Now I was doing a little thinking about our conversation the other day, and I thought 'Why was Pretty so evasive about why he needed this knife?' And then it hit me. While we were talking, you listed why you were taking certain people along and it occurred to me that you said that you were brining along Mr Mexican Cellmate because you could hardly leave him behind due to the fact that he would see everything. And then I thought, 'Why would Pretty need a knife in his cell if he was planning to be leaving through his cell? It's not like we're in danger of meeting anyone on the way…' And then I considered the fact that maybe you __**aren't**__ planning to bring your friend along? I mean, it's not like he's doing you any particular favours, is he? I think you two need to have a nice talk, don't you?"_

Michael looked up from the note.

"And you believe this?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah fish, I believe it. I don't think I have a choice, do I?"

"And you _are_ aware that it's written by T-Bag?"

"YES!" Sucre still hadn't caught on.

_**WHAM!**_

"What-?"

Michael had hit Sucre in the face. Not hard enough to attract attention from the guards. Or the doctors up in Medical, but hard enough to bring Sucre back to his senses.

Michael began to hiss angrily. "_I do not know what is wrong with you man! I come in here, tell you I'm getting my brother out, and you're coming with me so you can save your girlfriend from your bastard of a cousin, and you accuse me of wanting to kill you?_"

Sucre cowered. "Bro, I didn't know what to think, you know? Up in here, you learn to trust nobody, not even your closest friend. I saw it all down on paper like that, I didn't know what to do…"

Michael just shook his head and laughed. "That is so like him, you know? Trust T-Bag to leave it in a place where you were sure to find it. You know, this is just what he wanted, for us to start fighting. It would tear us apart and in the meantime, increase the chances of the hole being found! I mean, it's not like he has a reason to be out. He probably just wants out to kill an old girlfriend or something…"

Sucre gave a shaky laugh. Michael had long let go of his arm, but it still felt like something was pressing in on him.

"Soooooo," Michael said. "My knife arrived?"

Sucre looked down at his hand. "Oh yeah. And T-Bag left a note."

They both laughed heartily.

Sucre had been clutching the knife so heard that it had left a red imprint on his palm.

"What do you need a knife for anyway?" Sucre asked.

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**Once again guys, thanks for reading. Please review! Once again thanks to all of those who reviewed. **


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